


Passing the Time

by goingsparebutwithprecision



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Gallows humour, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, and general tomfoolery, featuring the unnamed Romulan cellmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingsparebutwithprecision/pseuds/goingsparebutwithprecision
Summary: Dr Bashir and his fellow prisoners play an old Earth drinking game.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Passing the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Giant Ducks and Tiny Trolls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481398) by [kathkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin). 



“Alright,” says Doctor Bashir, steepling his fingers. “Would you rather...fight one Cardassian-sized duck or ten duck-sized Cardassians?

“Hmmm,” rumbles General Martok, stroking his beard. “This is an aquatic bird from your home planet, yes?”

“Correct,” says Bashir.

“Are they aggressive, these ducks?” Ssaedhe asks, from her perch on the end of Martok’s bunk. “What are their offensive capabilities?”

“Poison spurs?” Martok asks, interested. “Fangs? Acid spit?”

Bashir considers this. “They have beaks?” he offers, after a minute.

“I think I would prefer to fight the duck,” Martok says. “To fight the tiny Cardassians seems unsporting. One simply has to step on them.”

“Excuse you,” Bashir says, “didn’t the Klingon Empire once fight a war against tribbles?”

Martok blinks at him, slowly. “The Great Emu War of 1932.”

“Never mind.”

“I will take the Cardassians,” Ssaedhe says, decidedly. “I prefer to pick fights I know I can win.”

Martok nods, approvingly. “Between us we would have them on the run,” he says. “Tain, you old lizard! Wake up, it’s your turn.”

The lump of blankets in the far corner doesn’t move. It hasn’t, much, since they got the signal out.

Eventually, it stirs. “Tedious,” it hisses, “juvenile.”

“Come now,” says Bashir, provokingly, “don’t be a sour old spoilsport, Enabran.”

“Leave him,” Ssaedhe says, with beautiful disinterest. “His brain is addled by its sudden lack of relevance.”

The blanket bundle shifts.

“Oh,” it says, rising a little, face hooded and shadowed. “You desire relevance? Very well, I will give it to you. Would you rather be tortured to the point of death, over and over, until the very last shreds of knowledge are torn, ragged and bleeding, from the ruin of your broken mind, or would you rather live the full span of your life in this cell, never leaving, barely moving, knowing all the while that out there in the galaxy, your changeling counterpart eats your food and betrays your friends and fucks your women, until it has poisoned your every joy and destroyed everything you have ever believed in?”

There’s a brief, pointed silence.

“Oh, definitely the torture,” Bashir says, just as Ssaedhe says “I suppose it would depend on the torture,” and Martok says “obviously the latter.”

“You’re joking,” Bashir says to Martok, “you can’t possibly mean that.”

“What is it you humans say?” Martok asks, “walk a mile in my boots? That poor idiot changeling is going to spend its time almost getting assassinated, navigating Klingon politics, being strong-armed by my wife, and trying to stop Gowron from blowing up the galaxy on a whim. And good luck to it! Meanwhile, I get to sit back, relax, and relish its suffering from my very comfortable cell.”

“That does sound rather fun,” Ssaedhe says, wistfully. “But I think I would get bored. Wait, am I alone in my cell, or aren’t I?”

Expectant eyes turn to Tain.

“What?” he rasps, testily. “Why the hell does that matter?”

“Well, I don’t want to get bored,” Ssaedhe says, reasonably, “are the others there, or aren’t they?”

“Doctor Bashir’s getting tortured,” Martok points out.

“Sorry, Ssaedhe,” Bashir says, “it’s the frankly unsettling masochism.”

“No need to apologise, doctor, I understand perfectly,” Ssaedhe says. “I think Martok and I would do alright for a while, but if it was just us two for the next fifty years I’d kill him with a bedpost.”

“You would stand a better chance with a shiv,” Martok says, companionably, “like that Tellarite had. Play to your strengths.”

“Your advice is noted, General,” Ssaedhe says, with a little bow.

“Of course, you will not succeed,” Martok says, “but it would wile away the hours rather well, I think.”

“It would certainly not be boring,” Ssaedhe agrees, “thank you, General, I am decided. I will take the latter as well.”

“Oh well, if we’re making it a party,” Bashir says, agreeably, “I suppose I’d be satisfied with only the occasional session of torture.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, and then Bashir sits up. “Hold on a moment,” he says, “I’ve just had a ghastly thought. If you’re here, and I’m here -”

“Who’s flying the starship?” Ssaedhe asks, and is ignored.

“Then that means Tain’s here, too, right? In this cell, for the rest of our lives?”

The three exchange glances.

“Torture?”

“Torture.”

“Torture it is!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to learn to write short things, so here's the attempt I'm happiest with! I dream of one day writing the "Bashir, Martok and Ssaedhe reunite to liberate the Dominion prison camp" heist fic that pops up in my head every time I watch this episode, but until then this will have to do.


End file.
